


The Scent of our Summer

by rachtay13



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Confessions, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Just the Tip, Lydia's lake house, M/M, Oblivious Stiles, Pining, Romance, S'mores, Star Tripping, Summer, Swimming, post 3b
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-02-28 22:54:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2750147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachtay13/pseuds/rachtay13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're gonna burn," Derek says, eyes lingering on the pale skin of Stiles' bicep, trailing down to the sparse hairs of his underarm. He wants to lay his cheek there and close his eyes.</p>
<p>Stiles smiles, stretches out further on the worn dock, and says, "Good."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. On the breeze

"You're gonna burn," Derek says, eyes lingering on the pale skin of Stiles' bicep, trailing down to the sparse hairs of his underarm. He wants to lay his cheek there and close his eyes.

Stiles smiles, stretches out further on the worn dock, and says, "Good."

Lydia throws a tube of sunscreen at him from her perch in the dappled shade. Stiles flinches when it hits his bare chest, lets it bounce off.

"I wanna feel it."

He turns his face to the sun, eyelids shut, lips happy.

Derek looks, and silently wants.

 

…

 

Scott pushes Stiles off the dock. Stiles retaliates by pretending to drown. Derek doesn't know how Scott falls for it; he can hear Stiles' accelerated heartbeat from here, dancing in amusement.

Scott plunges in, arms sure and strong, reaches for Stiles' limp body. Stiles whips his head up at Scott's touch, laughing and spraying water droplets from his hair.

"You're the _worst_! I thought you were dead!"

His barking laughter echoes across the lake, bouncing off the towering cedars.

The crack of it resounds in his skull, pounding deep and sharp. It tugs at him.

 

...

 

Stiles seems free, uninhibited. Derek doesn’t know how that’s even possible, so soon after everything. Maybe he’s just good at coping.

He’s sitting at the end of the dock, watching Scott and Kira gang up on Stiles in the water, splashing, pushing, fun for the sake of fun.

He shouldn’t question it, how well Stiles is doing. How well all of them are doing. Things have shifted, and he's not sure where he stands in their group. He feels old in the face of their boundless energy and wild laughter. All he knows is that they want him still- need him. It's good. It's better. He tries to embrace it.

He smiles when Stiles sneak attacks Scott and forces his head under. Stiles throws his fists up in triumph.

The day feels triumphant.

...

 

He floats on his back, not too far out from the dock. Everyone else is settled in the shade, eating sandwiches Kira made for lunch. He took the opportunity to shuck off his shirt and shoes and get in the water.

It’s warm near the top, but chilly underneath. He doesn’t think about how deep it is, just uses his other senses to hear and feel- nothing to worry about. Just water, fish, plants. Nothing bad.

Earlier, Stiles had needled him, trying to get him to jump in. He’d refused, going back to the book Lydia’d lent him.

“You scared? Nessie’s not in this lake, I’m positive,” Stiles teased.

“So sure, are you?” He’d countered, not looking up.

Stiles had remained silent for a beat too long, and when he looked up, Stiles' face was deciphering- eyes narrowed, mouth open.

“I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me or if you’re being serious right now.”

He simply raised his eyebrows. “You’ll never know.”

Mostly, he just didn’t want to be in the water with Stiles.

He remembers the last time, and he doesn’t want to remember right now.

Now is for living and sunshine, and floating carelessly in a lake, not for dredging the depths.

...

 

Everyone needed this. A getaway. A reprieve.

Too bad it feels like suffocating.

Stiles' scent is on the breeze, light but dizzying. The sun is orange, blazing, cutting across the sand volleyball court where Scott and Stiles take on Lydia and Kira. It's mostly playful, but Kira's spike is fierce.

Stiles' bloody nose is proof.

"Whoa, god. You're really strong," Stiles says from the flat of his back, dazed.

Derek is standing over him before it even registers- maybe he shouldn't. But his hand is already there on Stiles' neck, leeching the hurt away, and no one stops him. Scott helps him up, and Stiles blinks a few times, wipes and smears thin blood across his cheek.

"I'm _so_ sorry, Stiles. Let me go get you some ice!" Kira sprints up to Lydia's lake house.

"Go hard or go home, right?" Stiles says, all nasal and breathy.

Scott smiles and shakes his head.

"I'm guessing she didn't know there's ice in the cooler?" Lydia says, opening the lid and picking out a diet coke.

 Derek flexes his hand, tries to get the tingling sensation to go away.

 

...

 

"You want a marshmallow?"

"Are you gonna burn it?"

Stiles feigns innocence. "No, no! This batch'll be perfectly toasted, I guarantee it. I've got the technique down. 'Bout two inches above the flames, trust me." He winks and Derek's stomach flips.

"We'll see."

Stiles grins and adds another oversized marshmallow to his stick.

The light in the sky is slowly fading, throwing sparse clouds into neon pinks and oranges, contrast against a thin blue and purple backdrop. The first stars are barely there, but already he can feel his chest loosening. It's been too long since he let himself observe and enjoy the natural world around him.

Maybe it's the fact that he's supernatural that he feels apart from the world most days. But things like this; tiny pinpricks of light, low flames of a campfire, the rustle of the wind and sounds of wildlife- remind him. He is a part of it all.

"Shit!"

Stiles blows the marshmallows out in two huffs, but the damage is done.

Across the circle, Scott snickers.

Derek raises his eyebrows at him when he looks over in apology.

"Look at it like this- burnt just means that- sure, the outside may taste a little bitter, be a little crispy, but all the better because the inside is melty delicious goo. It's better this way, I promise."

He plops the blackened marshmallow in Derek's open palm.

Stiles stuffs his whole burnt one in his mouth, cheeks chipmunking with each chew. Even still, he's beautiful. He looks over and catches Derek's smile. He falters mid-chew.

Derek lets his smile widen.

Stiles blinks, then snorts, fighting a grin as he resumes chewing.

He's right. Burnt is better.

 

...

 

"You've never been star tripping? How? Oh my god, we always did it at camp. We have to do it!" Kira rushes to the house in search of a flashlight.

Scott goes first. He picks a star, and they spin him around, again and again, then Stiles shines the flashlight in Scott's upturned face. He laughs, stumbles, walks a meandering path backwards before falling on his ass.

Stiles goes next, ends up walking in circles before lurching forward.

Kira falls almost immediately, laughing loudly the whole while.

It's weird, and he tries not to think about it, but- how much Cora, Isaac, Alli-- the others would have loved this. Being together, being happy, _being._

"Your turn big guy!" Stiles pulls him in the center of their circle.

"I don't really-"

"No excuses, come on! You have to pick a star dufus- oh for- _look up_!"

He was not prepared for this. Hands push all over his upper body, spinning him forcefully. The stars blur in motion, his whole world moves, and then he can't see at all- pupils contracting so quickly it hurts. His arms fly out, he tries to steady himself, but the ground is moving, everything is moving, until it's not.

Everyone is roaring with laughter, way too loud for this late at night, and he still can't see.

"Come on, Derek," Stiles says with a smile in his voice and helps him to his feet. "Look at me okay?"

He pulls his eyes back to Stiles' again and again, like a skipping track, and finally sees how grandly Stiles is smiling.

"You laughing at me?"

"Yes," Stiles says decidedly.

Still dizzy, he can't work up a glare, just squints.

Stiles throws his head back in laughter. They're holding each other's upper arms, and they almost tip over with the force of Stiles' mirth. It's catching- the lightness in his scent, so pure and clean, it's _joyful_ \- and then _he's_ smiling, laughing, and it's not weird. It's good. It feels good.

Figures that the first time he has something to laugh about in years, Stiles Stilinski makes him laugh at himself.

 

...

 

He tries sleeping inside, but the moon is waxing bright, and the house is too quiet, the air too still and- he ends up in a hammock.

Stiles wakes him in the morning, light still dim, smile fond and soft as he looks over Derek's sleepwear.

"Didn't know if you'd ever actually use those."

His face heats. He won't admit that the batman boxers Stiles gave him as a gag gift last Christmas are his favorite thing to wear.

"Scott and Kira are making breakfast. We're thinking we'll do the hike today. You in?"

Derek runs a hand through his hair, notices how Stiles' eyes track it.

"Definitely."

 

...

 

The terrain is hard-packed, a well-worn path up the side of the hill. The heat began early today, and now deep into mid morning, everyone is sweating, huffing and puffing, no longer talking as they climb. Lydia leads with a steady pace, Scott and Kira behind, Stiles in front of Derek where he brings up the tail.

Stiles’ tennis shoes keep slipping, and Derek catches himself inches away from steadying him with a hand on his back.

Stiles' shirt is darker in the vee of his back, between his shoulder blades. His scent is heavy, thick on his tongue. Scott will know- he’ll smell how much Derek wants to lick, to gather the sweat in his palm and spread Stiles’ scent all over himself, and vice versa. Every breath only has more Stiles in it- he can't escape.

They stop halfway up. Stiles collapses on a rock, starfished on his back.

“Oh god. Why did anyone think this was good idea?”

Derek has a perfect view of Stiles’ inseam, shorts pulled tight against his splayed legs. His knees look knobby, feet overlarge.

He forces himself to look away before- before he can really think about it.

“I like it. Feels good to get out, do something,” Kira says, still slightly breathless. Scott smiles at her.

Lydia drinks from a bottle of Evian, hands it over to Stiles. He mutters a thanks and takes big gulps, rivulets leaking from the sides of his mouth.

Derek can feel Scott's gaze, curious and assessing, but he can’t look away from Stiles' messy display. Stiles' throat contracts, Adam's apple bobbing with each swallow, and he’s tempted.

He folds his arms over his clenching stomach, licks his lips and looks at the ground.

“We ready?” Scott prompts and the girls stand, start to follow.

They're already a few steps away and Derek is trying to act like he's not intensely watching Stiles' fingers scrape over the rock when Stiles groans.

“I can’t do it. Go on without me.”

He watches Stiles' stomach move up and down with each breath.

“You need someone to carry you?” Derek asks.

Stiles side-eyes him. “You offering big guy?”

“I was thinking Kira, actually.”

He rolls his head back and forth, weighing. “I think I’d be more comfortable with you- I’m like, a foot taller than Kira, my feet would drag... Plus, Scott would get jealous of me, you know, getting a free ride, and we'd have to take turns, it’d be a whole thing…” Stiles waves his hands in the air, stirring up his scent.

Derek ignores the hot twinge in his gut, snorts half heartedly, and offers a hand to help Stiles up. He takes it, pulling himself up with a groan. He wobbles once he’s upright, and slaps his other hand on Derek’s chest.

His eyes are wide; honey brown irises vibrant in the shade of the trees they’re under, and his palm is like a ghostly impression on Derek's chest, skin pricking around it.

“Thanks.” Stiles slides his hands away, steps back. “You go on ahead, I’ll bring up the rear- the back end- you know, the tail section here..." He trails off, looking away. Derek notices a weird hitch in Stiles' heartbeat.

Derek narrows his eyes. "You sure?"

"Yes. I wanna go as slow as I want without feeling like you'll bump into me. So." He makes a shooing motion with both hands.

"It's not a race," Derek protests, but begins walking.

"No, it's definitely not. But if it was, I would have lost yesterday."

Derek doesn't look back, keeps his smile to himself.

 

...

 

The top of the hill has an amazing view of the lake and the hills surrounding it. It's windier up here, and Derek takes a deep breath hoping to clear his head of Stiles' musk. It helps, but he's almost sad.

He _likes_ Stiles' musk.

But it's problematic.

Scott bumps shoulders with him as they stare out over the land. Derek glances over, and Scott has his eyebrows raised. He nods towards Stiles, and Derek can't help but look over to where Stiles is bent forward, hands on his knees. He's huffing, trying to regain his breath, but he's still admiring the view, even if he looks a bit perturbed about it. Derek stares at the curve of Stiles' back, down to the tight swell of his buttocks.

Scott bumps his shoulder again, pointedly, and he can feel his face heating and gut twisting in shame and anticipation of Scott's disapproval.

"You okay there? Look like you're about to throw up." Scott's tone is teasing, amused. He's smiling, eyes lit up.

Derek can't think of anything to say, just lets his confusion show on his face.

Scott grins, laughs a little to himself. He nods, biting the inside of his lip. "Yeah. Good luck with that." Scott nods towards Stiles again, pats him on the arm and goes to sit with Lydia and Kira on a boulder.

Derek swallows, takes quick breaths through his nose, and something in him bubbles, expands, breaks. He dares to look again.

Stiles is standing with his hands on his hips, staring out over the lake, and he's squinting against the unfiltered sunlight. He's sweat through the underarms and back of his shirt, and he keeps stretching his leg muscles, pointing his toes and doing little lunges. Derek catches a whiff of him- tired, happy, sweaty- and thinks that it might be okay. To want.

During the walk back down, he doesn't try to stop his own thoughts. He lets them fill his heart with imaginings of hands against hands against bed sheets, with wishes of casual touches and lingering looks, with daydreams of whispered conversations in the quiet of night.

He watches Stiles move animatedly (he's thrilled to be going down the hill instead of up with a promise of ice cream and swimming at the bottom), and simply lets the desire fill him up, lets the thoughts he's been holding back with claws drawn flood him until he's choking with want, feels stupid with it.

Stiles glances back at him, smiles and winks, and Derek finds he's full up, he's already drowned.

He carries on, heart and mind full, and doesn't shy away.

He wants to feel it.

 

...

 

He strips his shirt off, a bit more slowly than the others, and trails after them as they jump off the dock. He gives them a second after they've splashed to clear a spot for him, and dives in. The water is cool, refreshing, and he surfaces feeling more himself than he's felt all day.

The whole morning felt foggy, like he was trapped in a dream. A sexually and emotionally frustrating dream. Maybe the feelings he had on the walk back were hormone induced, the pull of Stiles' scent stronger because of the moon's cycle.

He shakes his hair out, wipes the water out of his eyes, and turns to float on his back.

Stiles' moans of pleasure ('oh Jesus this feels amazing') are audible even with his ears under the surface, and he suddenly, viscerally, wants to hear Stiles say that because of him.

His breath stutters.

So maybe it wasn't hormones.

He swims on his back further into the lake, arms pushing him away from Stiles' voice, away from his own desires.

The sky above holds no answers, no clouds; just endless blue and sunshine.

He keeps looking anyway.

 

...

 

Derek sets his camp chair under the shade by Lydia and sits, finds his place in his book with ease. Lydia doesn't glance his way.

He reads for some time, absorbed in the story, attention only breaking when Stiles shouts at Scott in the water. He watches them for a moment, thoughts elsewhere.

"So," Lydia says.

He blinks, looks over. She's staring ahead, eyes covered with oversized sunglasses, mouth pleased and turned up at the corners. He waits, eyebrows creasing.

"How are you?" Lydia asks, but it sounds more like a statement. She finally looks his way when he doesn't answer immediately.

"Good," he offers. She tips her head to the side. "Uh... You?"

Lydia smiles, shrugging her eyebrows. "Good. It's quiet out here. I finally feel..."

Derek watches as her face falls, and he can see- so many things he never thought Lydia would portray. Uncertainty and fear- but a solidity in her uncertainty that he finds compelling. He sees her face go through so many emotions and he feels- he can't place it.

"I finally feel... alone. And... that's okay."

She looks wistfully towards the lake where Scott and Kira and Stiles are taking turns being Marco, and he's strangely glad for her, but at the same time he knows the feeling swirling in his gut.

He's jealous. Jealous of how... okay she is with it.

"Are you actually fine, or were you just saying that?" Lydia's tone is neither accusatory or sympathetic, only curious.

Derek chews on the inside of his lip.

"I'm..." He watches Stiles lunge towards Kira with his eyes closed, arms flailing around. "I don't know how I am. It changes a lot."

Lydia purses her lips. "How about right now?"

He takes a few short breaths through his nose, and fights the urge to close his book and take a walk.

"I'm angry," he says. He hates the sound of his voice, sad and small. "I want.." He swallows and looks down at the book. "I want things... that I shouldn't."

"Hmm."

"Don't- tell anyone," he adds as an afterthought, sharpness tingeing his words.

Lydia snorts. "Tell them what? That you're a normal person? Okay, I won't." She rolls her eyes.

He shakes his head. "You know what I mean." He goes back to reading.

"Unless you want to kill people or fetishize small children, I think-" she turns towards him and places a hand on his forearm, "that it's perfectly okay for you to want it. No need to be angry at yourself. Sometimes..." She looks towards the lake again. "Sometimes you want things that maybe you shouldn't, maybe it makes you feel guilty, or wrong, but. If you're not hurting anyone, it's fine."

She looks at him again, and he feels like she's talking to herself more than him, but he appreciates it all the same. Even though he has no right, he's proud of her, for not only being as strong and capable as she is, but for wanting to help even when she's just as fucked up as the rest of them.

He nods at her, and she sits back in her chair and lapses into contented silence.

He watches Stiles and thinks. Wonders. Keeps his thoughts in his head. He's not hurting anyone.

 

...

 

Dinner consists of hot dogs roasted over a campfire and assorted bags of chips. Scott takes a special pride in roasting everyone's hot dog for them; beyond his smile, his scent radiates contentedness and satisfaction.

Scott gives him two hot dogs and a grin.

The night is warm, loud with the sound of crickets, and everyone seems tired after the long day, happy to sit and eat in relative silence. Watching Stiles is a habit now, and finds he's been watching and being watched in return for a few minutes now.

He catches Stiles' eye. He expects him to look confused or self conscious or smile, but he does nothing. He stares back, letting his eyes fall down Derek's torso with an air of casual disinterest.

He can feel his neck turning scarlet, the weight of Stiles' gaze too much- but he can't look away. Their eyes catch and hold, for just a moment more, and then Scott says something and Stiles is looking down, taking a bite of his hot dog.

Derek lets his eyes linger. He knows he should stop; this is crossing the line from wanting privately to wanting _obviously_ , and he _could_ look away, but he doesn't.

Stiles glances up, makes eye contact, holds it.

Derek swallows and breaks, eyes dropping in submission.

 

...

 

In all of Lydia's wisdom, she didn't impart any priceless nugget on how to keep desire from turning into action.

In Derek's specific predicament, the desire to reach two inches to his left and link his fingers with Stiles' where they lay against the warm pavement.

They're all on their backs arranged like the spokes of a wheel, stargazing on the basketball court, no overhanging trees to obstruct their view. Their heads are close together, and Stiles is on Derek's left, Lydia on his right. His whole upper arm is pressed solidly against Stiles', and it feels... so perfect, so right, it almost feels wrong that his hand is empty.

He shifts like he's trying to get more comfortable, and lets the back of his hand graze and rest against Stiles'.

His heart is racing, and he's painfully aware of how Scott is also _aware_ , but he needs touch, craves it, and Stiles seems oblivious. He doesn't flinch or move away, just lets Derek's hand touch causally against his.

He's not sure how long they lay out there, catching glimpses of shooting stars and talking about childhood memories- he's not really paying attention. His focus is on the back of his hand. Stiles moves a lot, uses his hands when he talks even though it's dark and no one is looking at him, but every time, he drops his hand right back to the same spot, skin sliding against Derek's like it's supposed to be there, there's no better place.

His insides are warm, jubilant, and now he wants more.

He feels a little pathetic, so ignited by such a small thing, but he doesn't remember the last time such a small thing even _mattered_ to him.

And maybe that's why it's so frightening, he thinks. He spent so long being numb to the good things that their presence is overwhelming.

Stiles lifts his hand again, scratches his nose, sets it back down on top of Derek's hand.

"Oh, sorry," he says lightly, and lays his hand on his stomach.

"No," Derek says before he can think about it, and reaches- slides his fingers up the underside of Stiles' forearm, takes his hand, and pulls it down between them. He doesn't twine their fingers, just keeps his palm up. Stiles' fingertips rest in the center of his hand, the base of his palm on Derek's wrist.

He freezes, heart in his throat. He begins to question his sanity.

Stiles doesn't react; keeps not reacting.

Derek is about to have a coronary when Stiles finally moves- begins to stroke softly- first with his fingertips against Derek's calloused palm, then with his thumb rubbing small circles and swipes against the side of his hand.

Goosebumps break out over his arms, and he shivers in the warm night air. His stomach swoops again and again with each pass of Stiles' fingertips across his palm. He can feel his cheeks burning, nipples tightening, heat pooling in his groin, toes tingling.

He had no idea he could become so aroused so quickly, from so little.

"Wow, I'm wiped, I'm gonna go to bed," Scott says loudly, faking a yawn. "Ladies, would you like an escort to the house?"

Kira and Lydia take his offered hand, and Derek holds his breath. Stiles' fingers are still moving slowly, softly over his palm.

"Night guys," Stiles says, voice steady and easy.

"Night. Don't stay up too late!" Scott calls back, leading the girls on his arms towards the house.

Derek can't move. He tries, but fear and uncertainty in the face of being aroused and alone with Stiles freezes him in place.

Stiles doesn't seem to mind or notice; he sweeps his fingers up and down, between Derek's fingers, tickling the sensitive skin there. Derek closes his eyes and focuses on the sensation, breathes through his mouth and gets a lungful of Stiles.

He smells bright and sharp, curious and anxious.

"I hooked up with someone when I was in Eichen house."

Derek's hand spasms, shocked out of his aroused stupor. Stiles keeps stroking, unperturbed.

"So I get it, you know. Sometimes you just need touch. To... get out of your head." His fingers begin prodding more forcefully, massaging the meat of Derek's thumb, then fan out, making their fingers line up. Stiles' hand is almost exactly the same size as his.

Derek helps Stiles' natural progression and slides his fingers between, palm to palm. He can feel Stiles' heartbeat, quick and strong. They hold hands and Stiles sweeps his thumb back and forth, mindlessly fanning the flames of Derek's need.

He knows it's his turn to say something, but nothing- it's all trapped in his throat, in his belly. He wants more than just touch, more than only touch.

"When you," he swallows, throat clicking. He has to breathe a few times before he can start again. "When you were... gone... I tried to think like you. To help. Sometimes I'd imagine you talking, working through everything, and it did. Help. So."

Stiles squeezes his hand. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he breathes, "and it was weird, not having you there. I got used to this voice in my head..." He dares to move his thumb across the back of Stiles' hand. "And now it's weird, really hearing you, but you're not talking to just me."

Stiles makes a short _hmm_ sound and he knows that Stiles doesn't really get it- how can he explain it--

"It's like having a conversation with someone standing right beside you, but they're actually on the phone. You realize they weren't really there the whole time. It's... weird."

Stiles goes still. "Dude, are you saying you miss me?"

"Well- yeah, but-" he expects Stiles to interrupt, but he gives him space to gather his words, goes back to soothing with his thumb.

"I miss what's not there. What's never been there."

Derek wants to listen for a change in Stiles' breathing, but he can't over the sound of the thundering between his ears.

"Let's go swimming." Stiles swiftly stands, tugging on Derek's arm.

He mentally stumbles and blindly follows, keeping hold of Stiles' hand leading them jauntily towards the lake. He smells excited, spicy. His head is spinning, muddled by the abrupt change from touching and quiet words to running through Lydia's property by the light of the moon.

On the dock, Stiles pulls his shirt over his head, kicks his shoes off, and in one fluid move strips out of his pants and underwear and dives in.

Derek exhales like he was punched in the gut. He just witnessed Stiles' bare butt, pale and naked and pale... and so naked...

"Come on! No one else is out here. Take it all off, Hale!" Stiles bobs a few feet out, and Derek can see him clearly under the lopsided moon. His expression is playful, smirky. "The water feels so good, come on, I know you want to."

Derek keeps eye contact as he toes off his sandals, and slowly unzips the fly of his shorts. Stiles' smile only grows wider. He pulls his shirt up, exposing his stomach, watches Stiles' eyes drop and lips part, and swiftly takes it off. He drops his shorts and kicks them to the side. Hooks his thumbs beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs, and hears Stiles' heart uptick. He smiles, turns around and pulls them all the way down to his ankles before stepping out and quickly flinging himself over the side of the dock.

Stiles is laughing when he surfaces, "Now I know! Werewolves _are_ hairy everywhere!"

Derek splashes Stiles in the face and his laughter rings across the lake. The water is cool and pleasant, perfect against his overheated skin. He feels renewed. The weight of his admission drifts away with the water, worries sluicing off his back. He swims closer to Stiles, and they circle around one another.

Stiles tips his head back, looking at the moon. "So like, do born wolves- are they better at swimming than most people?"

"We're better at everything."

"Yeah, yeah, but I mean-"

" _Everything_ , Stiles."

Stiles looks at him, scandalized. "Did you just- you did. That was innuendo. Oh my god-"

"We're better at that too."

Stiles laughs, full bodied belly laughs. "You! Jokes! Who are you? You've been upending my whole world view lately."

"Whole?" He has to ask.

Stiles snorts, swims lazily backwards. "You laid out and _tanned_ the other day. I watched you eat a _marshmallow_. At one point I saw you smiling at the book you were reading. And now you're- holding hands and skinny dipping and making innuendo- yeah. Whole world view."

Derek doesn't know what to say to that. He treads water and ignores the vague sense of hurt under his ribs.

"Derek Hale has a very hairy ass," Stiles says to himself, smiling at the sky. He squawks when Derek splashes him in the face again.

"You haven't known me that long. I wasn't always like this. Like..."

"Yeah, no," Stiles says, swimming closer, "I didn't mean it in a bad way... I like seeing this side to you. The regular guy Derek. Vacation Derek. Hairy Derek." Stiles cracks up as Derek pounces, grabbing Stiles' shoulders and pushing his head under.

He quickly retreats, and Stiles surfaces with a wild splash, coughing and spitting. "Oh, you are so gonna get it," his voice croaks.

A thrill runs up his spine and down to his groin. He flips over and tries to swim away, but Stiles is surprisingly fast. He grabs Derek's shoulders and pushes himself above the water in an attempt to make Derek's head go under. Instead, Derek rolls to the side and Stiles falls face first into the water.

"Oh you little-" Stiles flails, then lunges and gets an arm around his neck. Derek wraps his hands around Stiles' ribs, heart tripping in happiness and excitement.

Stiles keeps jerking him around, and when he realizes he won't get Derek's head under, begins to splash water violently into Derek's eyes.

Derek pulls Stiles in front of him and lifts. Stiles yelps as Derek throws him out of the water, sending him splashing a few yards away.

Stiles laughs as he snorts all the water from his nose, and swims back towards him, more slowly and predatorily than before. Derek side eyes him, decides to swim away too late. Stiles catches him around the neck, chest flush with his back, cheek pressed to his ear. " _Gotcha_."

Derek latches onto Stiles' forearm, and he relaxes, fight gone in an instant. Stiles’ body rests along his, a faint impression of contact.

"So," Stiles says after a moment, "what do you wish was there that's never been there?"

Hearing his own words turned back on him is worse than being dunked. Derek's heart takes off and his fingers tighten on Stiles' arm across his chest. Stiles rubs where his shoulder meets pec, and it does nothing to calm him.

"You don't want to know," he warns, voice low, face tipped up toward the moon.

"I do though. I really do."

They float there for minutes or hours, Derek doesn't know. His answers swirl through his brain, repeated over and over until they start to overflow, dribbling from his lips. He stares at the moon like he's confessing his sins to it.

"I want to build you a two story house."

Stiles' fingers clench, nails scraping the skin on his shoulder. "Two story?"

"So that there's a staircase where we can hang photos all the way up, family photos."

He can hear Stiles' throat click as he swallows.

"I want to build it away from everything, so you can walk around the house naked if you want. I want to take you on runs with me, late night runs where I chase you, and you like it. I want to come back to bed after a full moon and take you. Set my teeth to your nape and claim you. I want to travel with you- New York maybe- see if you like it. I want to build our house with my hands, so you'd know that I could--" He wonders if he should stop, but he can't, it keeps coming, "- so you'd know that I could provide for you. I want, I- I want to mark you. Just a little, enough so everyone would know."

His chest is heaving and his voice is more air than solid sound. He can feel Stiles' heart against his back, pounding hard.

"I want to know you, better than I do now, better than Scott does now. I want to know... I want to be there for you. I want to build a family with you. I want... I want. _Everything_.” He focuses on the twitch of Stiles’ fingers against his chest, but it feels numb.

"I want too much," he whispers, like the end of a prayer, repentant.

"I, uh... I thought you were thinking more 'friends with benefits' kind of thing..." Stiles starts, voice wavering. "I... I didn't know..."

Derek can hear how freaked out he is. This is why... He knew it was wrong, he knew he wanted more than he should, especially from someone so young, this is the whole reason--

"You weren't supposed to."

Derek gently pries Stiles' arms away and swims to the dock, shame and anger filling his gut. He pulls on shorts and leaves the rest, takes off into the dark woods.

 

…

 

Derek wakes in the early morning to sunlight filtered through pine needles. He feels like he hardly slept.

He trudges around the lake back to the house. He finds his discarded clothes in a pile underneath a tree. They smell faintly of Stiles.

He showers, wishing it would wash away the feeling of dread curling in his veins and stopping up his throat, but the only thing that goes down the drain is the mud caked to his heels.

After he dresses, he makes breakfast for everyone. Nothing extravagant- bacon, eggs, toast, and coffee- but the smells wake Lydia first, then Kira, then Scott. They all look sleepy-eyed and grateful when he hands them a plate. Derek leaves the kitchen with his mug and goes out to the dock to watch the sun rise higher over the lake.

He sits on the edge, feet dangling in the water, and sips his coffee while listening to the birds. He closes his eyes against the sun, sees red orange behind his eyelids. He listens to the woodpecker across the lake and keeps his heart steady despite the dock dipping with every step Stiles takes towards him.

“Morning.” Stiles plops down beside him, fresh smelling and clumsy with sleep.

Derek doesn’t say anything.

“So.” Stiles taps his fingertips against his own coffee mug. Derek tries not to think about what his fingers feel like. “Has anyone ever told you you come on strong?”

Derek scowls, clenching his jaw. “Yes.”

“Oh. Well… it’s- I get it. I really get it. I mean, I had Lydia and my children’s names picked out in fifth grade, so I _really_ get it-”

Derek feels his face heat. He bites the inside of his lip.

“-and I’d seen you, like, watching me I guess, but I thought maybe you just wanted to hook up, I mean. I’m me, not exactly relationship material-”

“No,” Derek interrupts, “why would you think that?”

Stiles squints at him, mouth open. “Uh, because I’ve literally never had a relationship.”

“Doesn’t mean you wouldn’t be good at it.”

“Right… well. I was just surprised. I don’t want you to think…” Stiles fumbles for words, rubbing his nose and scratching his jaw as he searches. “I don’t want you to think that I wouldn’t- that I don’t- that just because you caught me off guard doesn’t mean I don’t-”

A tender hope rises in Derek’s chest.

“I’m not _un_ interested, is what I mean to say. In, you know, all that stuff you… said. Um. So, yeah, if you haven’t like, changed your mind in the last eight hours, I’d be okay with seeing, you know, if that’s- like we could maybe _try_ or something-”

“You wanna go on a date with me?” Derek asks.

“Jesus Christ, thank you, yes, that’s what I meant. God.” Stiles slumps forward, wiping a hand across his face. “Or not a date, just hanging out. One-on-one situation.”

Derek nods, and Stiles relaxes. He lets out a long breath.

“Okay, cool. We will talk later then. I’m gonna go. Get more coffee.” He gets up and walks away, mumbling, ‘I really should have done this after coffee.’

Derek smiles, heart galloping as reality catches up to him. He breathes in deep, savoring the last traces of Stiles, and silently hopes.


	2. On his skin

They spend the day like they’ve spent the other days; swimming, laughing, playing, eating terrible things, telling terrible stories. It feels surprisingly normal. Derek expected to be wallowing today, but instead, he keeps catching Stiles’ eye, his little smiles and lingering looks. Stiles smells ridiculously happy and it’s intoxicating.

Mid afternoon Scott and Kira make ice cream cones for everyone and he and Stiles sit on a picnic table, feet on the benches, licking and slurping at the melting ice cream.

Derek should have known better.

He sits beside Stiles, just barely touching, and can’t help but focus solely on the ice cream dripping down Stiles’ cone onto his hand. Stiles doesn’t seem to mind, he keeps eating his cone without a care.

He shouldn’t have sat here, where the only thing worth watching is the way Stiles’ lips pucker around the top of the ice cream scoop, the way his wide tongue traces along the edges- licking up the melty bits, the way his long fingers grasp the cone- twisting and twirling it with precision.

Hindsight’s a bitch.

He grows more and more tense, watching, that one trail of melted ice cream taunting him from Stiles’ wrist. He doesn’t remember finishing his own cone, but he must have done; his hands are empty when he gently pulls Stiles up and asks to take a walk with him.

Stiles warmly agrees, popping the last bit of cone in his mouth.

Once they’re around a bend in the trail, Derek turns, grabs Stiles’ hand, and licks.

“Wuh- _oh god_ ,” Stiles makes a punched out noise, and it fuels the fire inside Derek.

He licks up Stiles’ wrist, tongue flat over his palm, then sucks down his first two fingers. He makes eye contact, and Stiles looks stunned. Stunned and turned on. He can see the realization sweeping over him, the knowledge of Derek’s true desires, that this- this is how it really is, how it’s gonna be.

Derek is afraid that Stiles will pull away, too overwhelmed, but instead he steps closer. He pants, eyes glazing as he watches Derek suck on his fingers, and makes a tiny helpless sound from the back of his throat.

Instinct takes over and Derek closes his eyes with his mouth still firmly wrapped around Stiles’ fingers, and moans from deep in his belly. His fingers are sweet, the scent of his skin overwhelming in his throat. He feels like purring.

“Fuck.”

Stiles moves the tips of his fingers against Derek’s tongue and Derek rewards him with another strong suck and soft _hmmm._

Stiles’ scent turns darker, deeper; it envelops him in this shady trail where the air is still and thick. He wants more of it. His other hand finds Stiles’ hip and he pops off Stiles’ fingers with one final suck. Stiles looks drugged, hazy and unfocused. Derek watches, waits.

“Fuck,” Stiles says again with more heat. “Fucking…” He sways on his feet before lurching forward. One hand goes to the neck of Derek’s shirt and snatches him closer.

Stiles stops, his face two inches from Derek’s, narrowed eyes flickering up and down, and up again. “That’s not playing fair. You don’t get to do that yet.”

A vibrant rush fills his head, making him light headed and hot.

“Why not?” he dares to ask.

“Because,” Stiles’ tone turns light, but he doesn’t back up out of Derek’s space, “I've just decided that the next person I sleep with will be in a bed, in a house, and we will know more about each other than last names.”

Derek’s mind spins and he blurts, “I can solve that right now. What do you want to know? My favorite color is blue. My first kiss was with a girl named Paige. I live in a loft with my undead uncle.”

Stiles smiles at that.

“I like cooking and reading. My favorite book is _Hatchet_ by Gary Paulsen.”

“It would be,” Stiles rolls his eyes.

“I like people I probably shouldn’t. Really mouthy, obnoxious people, who don’t know how to eat ice cream without making a mess of themselves-”

Stiles laughs, and now they’re touching from belly down, hips knocking together as Stiles shakes with laughter.

“So now you know about me. What about you?”

Stiles pulls his lower lip between his teeth, deciding and pondering, searching in Derek’s eyes. For what, he doesn’t know.

Stiles smacks his lips and looks down at Derek’s chest where his fingers are still clenched around the fabric of his shirt. “I don’t know if I’m easy or if you’re just that good, but…” he trails off when his fingers find Derek’s chest hair. He strokes over it, again and again, and Derek could fall asleep to this, if he weren’t incredibly aroused.

He taps Derek’s chest lightly with his fingertips. “I don’t think I can do anything right now without it going way too far, so I’m gonna, uh.”

Stiles slips one arm around Derek’s torso, the other slides around his neck, and he realizes they’re hugging. He wraps his arms around Stiles’ middle and relaxes into it, feeling Stiles’ heart beat against his own, and can’t stop himself from rubbing his beard into Stiles’ neck.

Derek feels a peace he’s never felt before. Like something clicked into place and now he can rest.

Stiles lets go and backs up one step.

“Okay. We um. How about tonight, we… do something. Together... that is date-like.”

Derek smiles slowly.

“Yeah, cool? Okay. Well, I’m gonna go back now, maybe go swimming or something to hide this-” he motions to his groin, “- and we will hang out later.” He nods after Derek blinks in affirmation and walks away, stumbling over loose gravel.

Derek takes one last deep savoring breath, adjusts himself, and follows.

…

As the sun sets, Scott finds a radio, sets it to an oldies station and pulls Kira out onto the blacktop of the basketball court. They twirl together, Kira’s skirt flaring around her thighs.

“Come on,” Lydia snaps her fingers at Stiles and he balks, but still takes her hand. Derek watches them all dance and feels a deep sense of rightness, completeness.

After the third time Stiles steps on Lydia’s foot, Derek interjects, “Can I cut in?”

Lydia smiles and takes his hand. As he spins Lydia around, he catches Stiles’ knowing smirk.

“See, Stiles, you do it like this,” he says, teasing, and moves Lydia how he wants her, gently guiding with his hands and hips.

“Yeah, you big show off. I’m still a better dancer- just with music from this century.”

Derek smiles and keeps dancing, pulling Lydia close.

“I could get used to this,” she says.

Soon Stiles takes over with Kira, then Scott cuts in with Lydia, and Derek finds himself without a partner again. Stiles is still having trouble, knocking knees and stepping on toes, and poor Kira is wearing sandals. Derek steps up behind Stiles, arms going around his arms, chest and hips pressing lightly against his back.

“Here, let me help you,” he says, lips brushing Stiles’ ear. Stiles shivers against Derek’s chest.

Kira smiles at him, grateful.

Stiles huffs, but takes direction easily enough. Derek pushes his knee against Stiles’, guides him with his hips, pulls him with his hands. He revels in Stiles’ scent, nose wavering just behind Stiles’ ear. He can hear his heartbeat, strong and fast, and begins to confuse the beat of the music with the thump of his heart. He loves the feel of Stiles’ body against his, moving, brushing, touching so casually, but it feels so charged.

The last time he felt this electric with someone’s touch, he’d been young, stupid, too naive to understand that it was wrong.

Now, everything feels right. Warm and comforting and perfect.

Feels new, and at the same time familiar.

...

When the stars begin to show their light, Derek takes Stiles' hand and leads him down to the lake.

"We're going out in that?" Stiles asks warily.

Derek pushes the canoe further into the water. Earlier he'd lined the metal bottom with life vests, pillows for added comfort and a blanket, just in case. In the back was a cooler with water and fruit.

"Yep," Derek says, motioning wide for Stiles to climb in.

"Gonna be honest, I've never voluntarily gotten in one of these," Stiles says as he bravely sits on the tiny metal bench in the front of the canoe. It wobbles as Derek steps in.

"You know we can't like, do _stuff_ in this thing right? It'll tip over."

"I think you're seriously underestimating my abilities. I'm a little insulted," Derek says, and catches Stiles' smile as he grabs the oar and pushes away from the bank. "Besides, we're not going to do _stuff_."

"Oh, we're not, are we? I think _you're_ seriously underestimating my self-control."

Derek laughs, too surprised at Stiles' forwardness to do anything but. The moon is rising over the edge of the trees, large and orange. The night is cooling off and the crickets are singing louder. He rows them to the rhythm of Stiles’ breathing to the middle of the lake. He can see the outlined edge of Stiles’ profile, backlit by the moon.

The shlush of the oar in the water is the loudest thing out there, save for the rapid beat of his own heart. When he deems them far enough out, he folds himself down into the bottom of the canoe, and Stiles does the same. Their shins knock together as Derek brings the cooler between them.

“So what do you want to know?” Derek asks, handing over a bottle of water.

“Hmm?”

“You said earlier. You want to know more about me than my last name. And you already do, but…”

Stiles takes a swig from his bottle, protesting even as he swallows. “I mean, I don’t know you on a deep enough level to warrant- well, I guess I do know your priorities and I know you’re not out to kill us all or something… and I know you’d do whatever needed to be done to save someone. And I trust you. That’s pretty big, I guess.”

Derek nods, unsure where this is going.

"But I don’t know anything about when you were a kid. I don’t know what it’s like being a born wolf, or what you did before you came back to Beacon Hills, or what you want to do with your life now. I mean…”

Derek can hear Stiles’ heart pick up.

“I mean besides what you already told me.” His fingers drum against his water bottle. He looks out across the lake, watching something over Derek’s shoulder.

“I don’t know what makes Derek- _Derek_. And I don’t have to know every little thing, but I want to know what has made you... Like you are. I have absolutely no idea why you like me, and I kinda..."

Stiles chews on his lip.

"You what?" Derek prompts.

Stiles brings his eyes to Derek's. "Can I be honest with you?"

Derek nods.

"I feel like... You have this idea of me or something. In your head. You said, about hearing me? And I just wonder- I wonder if you like someone that doesn't really exist. And. I don't want to waste your time, you know?" Stiles rubs a hand over his upper lip. "I'm afraid that I'll get to know you and end up liking you and you'll get to know the real me and change your mind."

"You don't have to worry about that. I'm not one to jump without looking." He cracks his own bottle of water open. “I have a fairly good impression of what makes you Stiles.”

Stiles stares, gives him a small nod, a sign of trust. “So what, have you been talking to Scott about me?”

“No.” Derek scoffs. “I pay attention.”

“And I don’t?” Stiles seems less offended than his tone implies.

“You do, but not to the right things.”

Stiles crosses his arms and stares. “Oh really. So tell me what I missed.”

Derek swallows. He know what he wants to say, but doesn't want to overwhelm Stiles again.

Stiles raises one eyebrow: a challenge.

Fuck it, he decides.

“You were suspicious of me, of my intentions, when I came back and... you had every justification. But you should know that I was always doing my best to protect you and Scott- from Peter, from any threat that ever came up.” Stiles continues to stare. Derek sighs. “I always try to make sure you’re safe. There were times where you thought I was pushing you away-”

“And you were,” Stiles interjects.

“But not because I didn’t want you there- because I wanted you safe and away from it all. I’ve always cared about you, always trusted you, always wished that you weren’t so intrinsically involved in all of this because you deserve some normalcy, you deserve better and more, and the longer you’re a part of all of this the sooner you’ll die. How many times now have you just barely avoided death? I’m…” he looks down to the water bottle he’s slowly shredding. “I’m really pissed at myself for telling you anything the other night because I feel like I gave you more reason to stay. More hope. When what you need is to leave as soon as possible.”

He breathes harshly through his nose, gritting his teeth.

“Dude.” Stiles smacks Derek’s thigh with the back of his hand. “You sound like Scott. And my dad. But they just love me, it’s normal to want the best for people you love..."

Stiles slowly stills. Derek can see Stiles working through it, seeing how his conclusions mean more.

“Oh.” Stiles says, still frozen.

Derek sighs.

“So you… love me.”

Derek inclines his head.

“Like, friendly... pack kind of love?”

“Really, Stiles? After what I told you yesterday?”

Stiles scrunches his face as if he's in pain. “But _how_. How do you already- when I haven’t- when I don’t-” Stiles starts, voice wet and choked.

“I told you, I pay attention.”

Stiles frowns, brow furrowed. "You pay attention. To fucking _what?_ How huge a spaz I am? How I'm the weakest link in our little group? Did any of _you_ get taken over by some fucking evil spirit and take your body on a joyride because you couldn't fight it off?"

"Yes."

"What?" Stiles freezes, taken off guard.

"Yes. I nearly tortured and killed Allison's father because of it." Stiles droops, shoulders and mouth falling in shock. "I never told Scott. Wasn't exactly my proudest moment."

"Shit. I knew about Isaac but..." Stiles leans forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

"It's nothing compared to what you went through, but I know what it’s like. It doesn't make you weak. It makes you aware. You know your limits and you hold tighter to your true self.” Stiles is scrubbing his hands through his hair, long fingers scraping against his scalp. “You would never do the things it made you, especially hurting your friends. Number one priority for you is family- and your friends are your family. It's like that for me too."

Stiles stares into Derek's eyes, breathing ragged. "Shit." He looks down and away rubbing a hand over his mouth. "Fuck." He throws his hands out wide and declares, "Shitting fuck, Derek. How long have- how the hell. Jesus. I need to lay down."

Stiles goes limp, head falling back and knees pushing Derek away. His hands press against his eyes as if he's trying to keep everything in.

"This- doesn't make any sense. We're not... But we- ugh!" Stiles explodes forward, hands spread in front of him- "We haven't fucking seen each other in ages! God, Derek- shit. I'm sorry, I wasn't." Stiles shifts and huffs, hand covering his eyes. Derek can sense his unease, embarrassment, sour on his tongue. Derek finds it endearing.

Stiles breathes in through his mouth and out quickly through his nose. "Help me out here- because the last time I checked, you see me as a grudging friend at best or an annoying hindrance at worst. I am so confused. I need to go think about like, every time we've ever spoken. This might take me a few hours. I really need to be laying down for this.”

Derek is startled, but not overly surprised. He pushes himself up onto the metal seat and begins rowing them back to the lake’s edge, resigned. Stiles sits with his knuckles against his mouth.

Derek shouldn't have said anything. He can hear Stiles' heart tapping out an anxious rhythm. "I'm not asking for anything, you know, I-"

"Shush, shut up, I'm thinking," Stiles waves him off and presses his fingers to his temple and stares into the floor of the canoe.

Thirty feet from shore, Stiles blurts, “In the pool. Why did you say those things if you trusted me?”

A distant panic threatens his throat, but he ignores it. He smiles, snorts. “I was angry at you, obviously. You didn’t listen to me. I told you to run and you just stood there. Besides that, I really like pissing you off.”

Stiles laughs once, a surprised bark. He quiets again as Derek hits the bank. He quickly gets out and pulls the canoe further up, then helps Stiles out. He gets an absent thanks.

With blankets over one arm and the cooler in the other, he walks with Stiles up to the house. The continued silence is unnerving, but he focuses on Stiles’ steady heartbeat to calm him. Pine needles overwhelm the scent in the air, and Derek finds himself breathing deeper to get a whiff of anxiety from Stiles. It's sharp, sour, deep. It reminds him of sadness and a time in his life he'd rather forget.

They head into the house and Stiles goes up the stairs without a word. Derek watches him for a moment before turning to the kitchen, hurt and confused. The night went nothing like he had hoped.

He bags up what useable ice is left, throws it in the freezer, puts the untouched fruit back in the fridge, and starts to clean out the cooler when arms circle around his waist.

“Thank you.” Stiles presses himself firmly against Derek’s back as he squeezes once, then quickly lets go.

“For what?” Derek asks belatedly.

Stiles pauses by the kitchen door. “For telling me. For trusting me with that.”

He taps the door jamb twice then dips his head. Then he’s gone.

Derek stares at the spot for a long time.

…

The next day feels like whiplash.

Stiles doesn't look at him over breakfast. He doesn't spare him a single glance or word as they amble outside.

He and Scott find mountain bikes in a shed and Scott waves happily as they take off together down the road. Stiles doesn't look at anyone. Doesn't look back.

Empty nausea follows him down to the dock where Lydia and Kira are, sunbathing and reading in the morning heat. Derek flops down on his back between their chairs and throws his arm over his eyes.

They leave him be for a few minutes, letting him wallow, but it isn't long before he hears them shift in their chairs and the quiet exhalations of mouthed words.

He sighs heavily.

"Derek? Are you okay?" Kira asks.

He sighs again. "Yeah."

"That was convincing," Lydia says.

He shoots her a glare with one eye uncovered.

"Come on. What's wrong?" Lydia kicks him in the calf.

He huffs and sits up. The sun is hot already; the rest of day will surely be miserable. He clenches his jaw and plays with his shoelaces.

“I did something stupid.”

He can feel their stares on the sides of his face, heavy and curious.

“What happened?” Kira asks gently.

He sighs again, shoulders slumping.

“I told Stiles that I’m in love with him. It’s very... unreciprocated.”

Silence. He feels his face heat as he replays those words in his head. They really do sound as pathetic as he thought.

“Oh, wow,” Kira says.

“Is this what you were angsting about the other day?” Lydia asks.

Derek turns and glares. “I don’t _angst_ about anything.”

“You do, and you are, right now,” Lydia fires back, unperturbed. “Big deal, I’m sure he’s just thinking. Processing. When did you tell him this?”

“Last night.” He swallows and stares out at the sparkling lake. “He seemed really freaked out.”

Lydia snorts. “Stiles doesn’t freak out. He accepts new information pretty well, I think.”

“That’s true,” Kira says, thoughtful. “I’ve never seen him freaked out before. He just absorbs and tries to find a solution.”

“Does this need a solution? I don’t need for him to… I just- I don’t want it to be weird.”

“Then don’t let it be weird, Derek. Simple as that!” Lydia says. She touches his shoulder lightly. “You go on being you and Stiles will catch up. That’s what I did.”

He sighs again.

“Okay. Worst case scenario: he doesn’t love you, will never love you, and decides he doesn’t even want to be your friend. Is that really so terrible? You’d move on to someone better a lot quicker.”

Lydia’s words sound wrong. They pierce that quiet connection he felt with Stiles, a sharp hole burned in the middle of it. He feels sick.

“I didn’t even know you liked him,” Kira says, “so I’m not surprised that he’s surprised. Just give him some time.”

Lydia’s fingers brush through the hairs on his nape. “Best case scenario: He realizes he’d be an idiot to let this pass by him, and sprints for it as soon as he gets back. You have to be there to catch him though.” She nudges him with her foot. “You can’t catch him if you’re too busy being emo.”

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head in mock exasperation. He reaches to that connection inside, feeling along the edges, and finds it whole.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. He lays back down on the worn wood of the dock with his arms out wide, eyes shut against the bright mid-day sun.

“So what do your parents actually do? I mean I’ve met your mom, but-” Kira asks Lydia.

“My father’s not in the picture any more. I get a substantial amount of child support though, so that’s always welcome.”

“Yeah I bet... I love this place, I was curious how your mom could afford it-”

“There’s surprisingly little upkeep, just taxes and then when we use it water and electricity. It’s been in my family for a long time on my mother’s side. My grandmother..”

He lets their conversation wash over him. Their words and the warmth of the sun lull him into a light sleep.

…

A little before lunch he takes a cool shower. He’s pretty sure his skin burned during his nap, but the only evidence is the faint tan line from his tank. When he gets out he feels brand new, all of his swirling thoughts shriveled up by the sun.

He pulls on the same pair of shorts and forgoes the shirt. He picks up his discarded clothes and his toiletries and opens the door to a surprised Stiles.

“Uh, sorry,” Stiles says quickly, snatching his hands back to his sides. “Didn’t know you were in there.”

“That’s okay.” Stiles’ scent is heavy, rich and dark with pheromones and musk. His face is flushed, some hair matted to his forehead and the rest sticking straight up. He’s staring at Derek like he’s seeing him for the first time, eyes wide and mouth gaping.

Stiles isn’t moving. Derek flits his gaze from one eye to the other, searching for some clue as to what’s going on in his head.

“Uh. Have a good ride?”

“Ride? Oh! Yeah, it was good, um, very enlightening.”

“Enlightening?”

“Yes. Enlightening.” Stiles stares at Derek’s collarbone. Derek can feel his skin heating up again. He shivers.

“Did you um,” Stiles starts, eyes jumping around Derek’s naked torso, “Did you know that Scott can run as fast as me on a bike going downhill? It’s amazing. He just laughed like it was nothing. Did you know that he’s like- he’s getting all mature and shit? Did you notice that? When did that happen? Where was I?”

“I think you were busy that day.”

Stiles’ eyes snap to his. They look sad. “Damn, you really do notice everything. I’m such an idiot.”

Derek snorts. “You’re not an idiot, you’re young and you’ve got a lot on your mind-”

“But how could I miss _this_??” Stiles motions between them, aggravated. “It’s so fucking obvious and I missed it! Why- How- What’s the point of being in love with such an idiot? Huh? You’ll just be sad all the time and giving me that face and I’ll be the douchebag who tries to make it up to you and fails so hard- I don’t even know what groveling gifts are best anymore- are flowers and chocolate still a thing? I don’t even know if you like flowers or chocolate-”

“We’d get better at it. That’s how relationships work.” Derek can’t feel his limbs.

“What do you know about relationships? What do I know? It’s a fucking disaster waiting to happen!”

“We work on it together,” Derek says simply. Stiles works his jaw and stares with frustrated eyebrows. “I’m willing to try if you are.”

Stiles flinches and puckers his mouth. He blinks twice. “Yeah.” He swallows and breathes shakily through his nose.

“Yeah?”

Stiles gives a little nod.

Derek smiles, heart overtaken by joy. Stiles seems overwhelmed, but his face slowly relaxes into a small smile. He laughs once and rubs the back of his neck.

“Are you really that scared of me?” Derek asks, still smiling.

“Scared? I’m fucking terrified, man. I thought I knew you, you know? And now it turns out I didn’t know you at all. You’re this-” His hand sweeps up and down in front of Derek’s chest, “-this person, this whole new person and it’s very possible that I could be- that I could really like this new person and. Yeah. That’s scary.”

Derek nods a little and tries to stifle his grin but he fails. “I like lilies. And wildflowers. Pretty much anything you’d see growing on the side of the road.”

Stiles raises his eyebrows, lips parting in surprise.

“And yes to chocolate. I like dark chocolate better, but I’m not picky.”

“Good to know…” Stiles nods absently as his eyes roam over Derek’s body- down his shoulder to pecs and ribs, down further to his abs, and slightly further down to his-

“Are you attracted to me?” Derek asks, and Stiles startles, taking a step back.

“Why would ask me that? Can’t you tell?” Stiles narrows his eyes.

Derek flicks his eyebrows upwards.

“Fuck you, you know I am.”

Derek grins. He sets his things on the bathroom counter and reaches for Stiles’ arm. He pulls him closer until their knees knock together.

“Just making sure.”

Stiles rolls his eyes half-heartedly. “And you’re attracted to me?”

Derek takes in Stiles’ face- his mocking eyes, flared nostrils, chewed lips. “Very.”

Derek looks and Stiles looks back. Derek has one hand on Stiles’ waist, the other bracing himself against the counter. Stiles stands stiffly, but the longer they stay there breathing the same air, the more Stiles relaxes. He cups Derek’s elbow with one hand and the other slides over Derek’s abs.

Derek can feel his eyelids drooping in satisfaction and lust. The air in the bathroom is still moist, and now it’s permeated with Stiles’ scent- that musky richness that’s all teenage boy and blatant arousal. He wants something, he can feel a tug of intense need, but he doesn’t know what it is. It makes him want to bare his throat, fall to his knees and rub his face in Stiles’ middle, but that would be too much far too soon.

“Can I kiss you?” He surprises himself by asking.

Stiles blinks slowly, and his lips tremble as he faintly says, “Yeah.”

He gently runs his thumb across Stiles’ jaw, fingers resting on his neck, and touches his lips to Stiles’ softly. Stiles’ fingers clench and twitch and he presses forward, keeping them connected. Stiles makes a small plaintive noise in the back of his throat when Derek pulls back.

Stiles’ eyes are shut and his mouth is puckered. His lips look so inviting Derek has to try it again. He kisses Stiles soft and slow, their lips sliding together and in between and Derek has to taste, just a tiny taste, and is rewarded with hitched breath and Stiles pulling him closer, opening to him like he’s been waiting for it, begging for it.

Kissing Stiles is nothing like… anything. It’s exhilarating and humbling and makes him want to whine and rut. He realizes he is whining when Stiles pulls back and shushes him, pets him with his hands in his hair. He feels what he imagines being drunk is like. He dives back in, pulling Stiles flush to his chest, hips aligning and arousal building.

Stiles kisses like he knows what he wants, not as if he’d spent all morning deliberating. He kisses with skill which only turns Derek on more, makes his already trembling knees weak with surrender and want. He kisses with more tongue than lips as if he wants to taste Derek as badly as Derek needs to be tasted, to be taken.

Derek feels weak, and at the same time like the most powerful being on the planet.

That rightness in his chest grows and deepens, choking him down deep. He has to pull back and breathe. Stiles stares at him with glazed eyes and reddened lips. He places a hand on Derek’s chest right over his heart. He’s not sure if what he’s feeling is limited to him or if Stiles can sense it, but he feels like he can. He wants Stiles to be able to feel it.

“You okay? Your heart’s beating really fast,” Stiles says low and quiet.

“Yeah, that’s your fault.” Derek presses two fingers to Stiles’ neck. “You’re one to talk.”

Stiles smirks and pushes Derek around against the counter. He steps between his spread legs and leans in. “Who needs talking?”

Stiles kisses him and that vibrant feeling expands and floods, filling his ears with rushing and making his lungs stutter and freeze.

“Food’s ready! Come get it!” Scott’s voice carries across the house.

They pull back, noses still brushing and eyes partly closed.

“I came up here to take a shower,” Stiles whispers.

Derek shakes with silent laughter. Stiles grins and laughs out loud.

“Instead you got a werewolf boyfriend. Good job.”

Stiles beams and dives in for another kiss, hands on either side of Derek’s face.

“Okay. You go eat, I’m gonna shower.” He steps back and Derek feels like he’s resurfacing after a leisurely swim in the depths of the lake. “And probably jerk off.” Stiles tears his shirt off and pushes Derek out the door, smirking at him as he closes it in his face.

…

He crushes Scott in a hug the moment he sees him.

“Mphff! Wah! Dude!” Scott laughs and hugs back.

Derek pulls away and holds Scott’s upper arms. “Thank you. I don’t know what you said but it was good.”

Scott grins and pats him on the arm. “No problem man. You’re a good guy. He needs to see that.”

“Thank you. If there’s anything I can ever do for you, I’m there.”

“I take it things went well then. _Really_ well?”

Derek fights a grin and scratches under his chin as he looks around the room.

“Ha! Good. I’m happy for you, Derek, seriously. Actually, I do have something you could help me with…”

…

The gazebo glows warmly in the early evening light, the inside and railings wrapped in fairy lights. Scott lights a few fat white candles and sets them along the stairs, and Derek trails fresh rose petals down the center leading to the middle of the gazebo floor.

The gazebo looks over the lake, situated away from the house and nestled in a thick copse of trees, making the twilight seem darker and the strings of lights brighter.

"Thanks again man," Scott says, excitement evident in this voice. "I've been wanting to do something special for her all summer, it's been... really hard. And weird." Scott looks down at his hands and picks at the label on his lighter.

"She'll love it."

Scott gives him a grateful smile.

"When will they be back?" Derek asks.

Scott pulls out his phone. "Stiles said they left the spa an hour ago, and then went to the store to pick up some more food, so they should be here pretty soon."

They head back to the house and Scott puts his finishing touches on the picnic basket he'd prepared, full of fruit and chocolate and a bottle of wine from Lydia's basement.

The moment the Jeep comes into view, Derek hears the spike in Scott's chest. Derek just smiles as he watches Scott wring his hands and take big breaths.

"She'll love it," he says again.

Scott deflates and shakes out his hands, rolls his neck. "Yeah, she will. Thanks man." He smiles big and quick and opens the front door just as Stiles and the girls step onto the porch.

Derek watches as Scott whisks Kira away, basket swinging on his arm like a dapper gentleman calling on his lady. Kira beams as she turns with him and takes his arm.

Stiles and Lydia watch them go. When they’re out of sight, Stiles whips the door closed and says, “Party time!”

Lydia rifles through the kitchen pantry and pulls out a case of beer and a bottle of champagne. She holds them out to Derek with an expectant smile and asks, “Which first?”

…

Stiles is drunk.

If Derek couldn’t tell from his glassy-eyed gaze or the pinkness in the patches on his cheeks, there would be no denying the smell.

Stiles usually smells like home- spicy like sweat, but deeper and sweeter. Now he smells saturated and sour. There’s no escaping the overwhelming scent as Stiles is draped across Derek’s lap as if he owns it. He’s sweating underneath his shorts, but the feeling of having Stiles’ weight on him is comforting. Derek simultaneously wants to push him off and pull him closer.

Lydia is curled up in an armchair, asleep, where she’s been for the last half hour. Stiles is still awake, talking over the movie he insisted on them watching. It’s the longest movie Derek thinks he’s ever had to endure- it’s been over two and half hours already and the hobbits haven’t made it anywhere yet.

“But Gandalf the grey is better- he just is. He’s like, not sassy and prissy- wait. No, I mean, Gandalf the grey is sassy, but not prissy like the white one,” Stiles explains, eyes on the screen. “That’s weird, right? They’re the same person but they’re different. It’s weird. Do you like the white one better?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Stiles turns his head. His eyes roam around Derek’s face before settling on his eyes.

“Do you even know what I’m talking about?”

“No. Not a clue.”

“Oh. You’re like Aragorn.”

“Which one is that?”

“Him.” Stiles points to the screen. “The good guy. He’s so great. You’re the good guy, I know you are. Scott told me ’bout you. I know you’d carry me to Mordor if you had to.”

Derek takes in Stiles’ sleepy eyes, breathes in the strange sour scent coming from his skin, and smiles.

“I would.”

Stiles smiles back. “I knew it.” He turns and snuggles into Derek’s torso, arms going around and hands finding their way up the back of his shirt. “I knew it,” he says again into Derek’s bellybutton.

Derek knows he’ll smell the rancid alcohol scent burning in his nose for much longer if he touches, but he can’t stop himself from stroking over Stiles’ arm, the back of his neck, his cheekbone, and tracing the outline of his ear.

This night is nothing like he expected, but finds he’s completely content.

“I know you’d do the same for me,” Derek says under his breath.

Stiles squeezes him once, then slowly goes limp as he drifts off into sleep.

…

Kira shuffles into the kitchen the next morning with her hair up in a messy bun and her shirt skewed.

“Morning,” Derek says, looking up from his book.

Kira grimaces. “Morning.”

“So. How was your evening?”

She pours herself a cup of coffee and sits across from him at the table. She’s fighting back a smile.

“Really good. Pretty perfect.” Derek watches her take a sip with her lips curled up in happy memories. “He’s great. Only a few hiccups in Scott’s plan.”

Derek flicks his eyebrows up.

Kira chuckles into her mug. Her voice is low, fogged with sleep. “He forgot a corkscrew. He didn’t want to go back to the house to get one, so… Instead of going without, he decided to cut the top of the wine bottle off with his nails.”

Derek shakes his head in amused wonder. “Why didn’t he just break it off?”

Kira lifts her fingers away from the mug like a shrug. “I don’t know, but it took him a good ten minutes to cut through it, and then! You should have seen his face when he realized he forgot glasses.”

Derek imagines the crestfallen look on Scott’s face.

“I told him I didn’t really care to drink but he took it so seriously. It was cute.”

“Yeah, sounds cute.” He smiles on the inside and goes back to reading.

“Yeah.” Kira taps her nails on her mug. “Hey, thanks for helping him out with stuff? He mentioned you helped-”

“I didn’t do anything. It was all his idea, I just strung up some lights.”

“Well, thanks.” The full force of her smile is too much this early in the morning, so he grunts and looks down at his book.

“What’d you guys end up doing?” Kira asks.

Derek sighs. “They decided to educate me on human tolerance to alcohol and my tolerance for science fiction. I’m sure you can imagine how pleasant that was for everyone involved.”

Kira snorts into her coffee. “Oh no, did somebody throw up?”

“No, just drool. All over my shorts. Which I definitely prefer.” Kira smiles wider. “There was a moment I thought I would throw up from the smell.”

Kira winces. “Yeah. I stopped drinking after a while because Scott said I smelled weird? Is alcohol sensitivity a thing?”

“I guess so. I’ve never really been around many people who drink before.”

“Hmm.” Kira takes a drink and stares out the window toward the lake. The sun is just over the horizon, casting the kitchen in a warm pink orange glow. Another beautiful day.

“Scott’s up. I think he’s panicking that you’re gone.” Derek says casually.

“Oh.” Kira snaps to attention. “Oh, okay!” She leaves her mug and rushes up the stairs.

Derek listens to Scott and Kira reunite upstairs and then turns his attention to Stiles’ breathing in the next room.

He doesn’t know how much experience Stiles has had with drinking, but he feels responsible- for all of them- and can’t help monitoring them.

Stiles is breathing deep and even, just as he has all night.

…

It really is a beautiful day. It’s hot, but there’s a nice breeze coming off the lake. It’s even cooler just under the shade where he’s sitting with Stiles.

Stiles looks tantalizing. He’s shirtless, lounging in an Adirondack chair, wearing Lydia’s sunglasses. They cover his eyebrows to his cheekbones, but he’s still groaning about the light stabbing in his eyes. He takes a swig from the overlarge Evian bottle he’s been cradling to his chest like a baby, swallowing tiny gulps like it’s a chore. A dribble runs from the corner of his mouth and falls to his collarbone where it stays.

Despite knowing his advances might be welcome, leaning over and licking that one little drop from Stiles’ skin still seems inappropriate. Especially since Lydia is on the other side of Stiles, lounging in her bikini and holding a conversation with him.

He’s not paying attention to words. He’s listening to the sounds of Stiles’ body. Since he woke up this morning, Stiles’ has been a grumbling, grabby, sad-faced baby who latched onto Derek like a snuggly koala. Derek insisted he shower, brush his teeth, and drink a quart of water while he made breakfast for everyone. Stiles winced and said, “I know I’m just a lowly human with normal person hearing, but you don’t have to shout.”

Now Stiles only seems to be mildly uncomfortable. Derek can hear his stomach rumbling, still upset from all the alcohol, but his heart sounds just the same- that perfect steady rhythm that he could lose himself in any day. He smells normal now, and Derek savors it. He breathes with his lips parted, tries to get a taste of his scent.

“Hey,” Stiles grunts, smacking Derek in the shoulder with the back of his hand. “Can you get me more water? I can’t move.”

Derek looks at the empty water bottle. “You _can_ move, you just don’t want to.”

“Noooo I can’t. It makes my brain hurt if I move. Pleeeease?” Stiles pushes out his lower lip.

“Wow, you are really milking this,” Lydia says. “You drank less than me and my headache was gone an hour ago. You can’t take advantage of people who are in love with you, Stiles. It’s wrong. Did I _ever_ take advantage of you?”

“Uh… I feel like you did, but I can’t remember right-”

“That’s right, I didn’t, so get your own water.”

“It’s fine, I’m happy to,” Derek offers. He hates seeing Stiles suffer. Or, he hates seeing Stiles suffer by the hands of anyone but himself.

Lydia pushes a lock of hair behind her ear. “It’s the principle of the thing, Derek. Healthy relationships don’t have a power imbalance-”

“Healthy relationships mean taking care of each other and right now I need Derek to take care of me by getting me more water, and maybe some more aspirin, too? Please?”

Derek doesn’t wait to see what Lydia says, he snatches the empty bottle and jogs back up to the house.

On his way back, he hears Stiles shushing Lydia. It’s silent when he reaches them.

He places the full water bottle against Stiles’ shoulder, holds out a fist with two white pills.

“Oh god, thank you,” Stiles groans.

“Do you think you could explain to me again why you think I’m like Aragorn?” Derek says as he sits.

Stiles almost spits out his water.

“I said you were like Aragorn? No, no… You’re more like Lupin.”

Derek squints. “Was he in the movie-”

“No, Derek is more Sirius, he’s not all coddling like Remus-” Lydia interjects.

“Psh, no. Sirius is such a prick sometimes-”

“Exactly my point,” Lydia counters.

Stiles rolls his eyes.

“Then who does that make you?” Derek asks. “Gandalf?”

“Stiles is James Potter.” Lydia tips her head back against her chair.

Stiles stares at her, incredulous. “James Potter. _James Potter?_ Are you seri- no way! All we know about James Potter was that he was a bully and a jerk!”

“If the shoe fits.” Lydia shrugs.

“Wait, are we talking about Harry Potter now?” Derek asks.

“If I’m James Potter, then you are fucking _Snape._ No- no, you’re the centaur. The one that becomes the teacher. What was his name…”

“No, I’m Pansy Parkinson, obviously.”

“Then Stiles would be Draco.” Derek says.

Stiles and Lydia whip their heads around to stare at him.

He feels like he has to explain. “Because they’re best friends and they’re both… annoying.”

Lydia bursts with laughter, loud and long, doubling over and covering her face.

Stiles keeps staring at Derek like he’s trying to figure him out.

“Were you ever attracted to Draco?” Stiles asks slowly.

“Who wasn’t?” Derek replies.

Stiles grins and Lydia laughs again.

…

Later, he catches Stiles watching him when he’s teaching Kira how to do a standing back flip. Stiles’ face is soft, lips parted, eyes assessing.

Derek wishes he were close enough to smell, but he has a feeling that Stiles is still thinking, trying to figure him out.

Derek spots Kira for the fifth time and feels over warm by the sun, giddy from the attention.

...

When the moon rises that night, Derek watches it with Stiles from the end of the dock. Stiles smells like relaxation, all warm and soft. He wants to touch him, make sure this is real.

“How did you-” Derek stops, surprised by his own voice. Stiles looks over, eyebrows raised. The collar of his worn t-shirt moves in the wind, and Derek’s eye is drawn to his collarbone. He has that urge again to lick it.

“Hmm?” Stiles prompts.

Derek swallows.

“How did you… go back to normal? You seem. Didn’t it. I mean,” Derek tries, as Stiles’ face darkens.

“I’m not normal. I’ve been having nightmares for months, and that’s when I _can_ sleep. It’s hard to look Scott in the face. Did you know I-” Stiles voice wavers as he picks at the dock with his nails. “I ran Scott through with a fucking sword. I can still see his face. Just knowing that Allison is gone- it’s like I was run through. You said. That, um. I’m not weak, but. I felt it all. And I didn’t feel weak at the time, but obviously, I was weak- I’m the one it chose. Don’t- don’t say anything, okay?” Stiles waves him off. “I’m the one it chose and I have to deal with that, and the only thing I can do is try, you know. I can’t take anything back. I can’t make it better, but I can try. For Scott, for Lydia. I can try to be normal.”

Derek nods, but Stiles isn’t looking.

“I mean, I’m aware that probably everyone else is more screwed up than me- I’ve only been kind of dealing with stuff, but I’m not actually anything- I’m still human at least-”

“Let’s not compare. I’ll win every time.”

Stiles meets his eyes, and it’s like everything slots into place. Derek can see everything clicking in Stiles’ mind. He’s swallowing and breathing heavily, heart rate kicking up as his eyes flick down to Derek’s lips. His eyes are wide and mouth slightly open. Derek sways forward, feels like he’s being pulled, but he’s not, _he’s not,_ Stiles is pulling away, scrambling away, he’s running down the dock. Away.

Derek stares after him for a moment, stomach plummeting. He feels like Stiles ran him through with that fucking sword.

He scents the air. Lust. Empathy. Confusion. Panic.

Derek can still hear him in the distance. He ran into the woods. While panicking. At night.

“Fuck.”

He doesn’t think about it, just follows. Even through the stabbing pain, he can’t let Stiles be hurt because of him or because he’s panicking.

He doesn’t have to run far.

Stiles is standing in a copse of trees, fingers pulling at this hair.

“Stiles.”

Stiles hands slide down to cover his face. “Noooooo,” Stiles groans. “Goddamn it.”

Relief washes over Derek. Stiles’ voice is more coherent and self-deprecating than he was expecting. He takes Stiles’ arm and steers him against a tree. He keeps his hand there on Stiles’ bicep, needs to keep hold of him.

“Tell me. Come on. Talk to me.”

Stiles doesn’t move his hands but he moans and groans some more while mumbling out apologies. Derek runs his thumb softly back and forth on Stiles’ arm, not caring if it’s allowed right now.

“I’m sorry. You’re just- I don’t know- you’re just so… ugh!” His hands form fists, pressing hard around his face. He wraps his arms around his middle and looks down at Derek’s torso.

“What did I do?” Derek asks. He knows he’s been too intense, too forward, too demanding for this early in a relationship. He knew he shouldn’t have said anything in the first place.

“You’re just so fucking- _perfect_. God. Who even gave you permission to be like this? You simultaneously make me feel horrible _and_ like the best person alive and you look at me like you’re constantly amused and want to jump me and it’s fucking weird and awesome, and you get me and I can talk to you and you don’t say anything stupid or look at me like I’m- like I’m something to be pitied..”

They’re both breathing hard, the only point of connection pulsing where Stiles’ arm meets Derek’s palm. Over the sour note of embarrassment Derek is struck with something new. It’s full and rich, like a rose blossoming right under his nose. It’s honeyed and sweet and beautiful. He takes in lungfuls, feeling his head become lighter, stomach swooping low.

“I’m just…” Stiles fidgets.

“Scared.”

Stiles makes eye contact and Derek feels it in his gut.

“Yeah. I’m scared.”

“Why?” Derek can’t get enough of that scent. He sways in without thinking about it. Stiles’ mouth is so close. That smell… He presses his nose to Stiles’ neck, inhaling deeply.

Stiles makes a small noise in the back of his throat and clutches at Derek. His hands are hot, everything is hot, the air still and thick and so good, getting better, deeper, richer.

“Because,” Stiles strains as Derek runs his open mouth against Stiles’ neck, lips catching occasionally. “Because it’s so much. You’re so much.”

“You’re so much,” Derek says petulantly against Stiles’ earlobe.

“Oh god,” Stiles jerks. “Please, Derek, please.”

“Yeah,” Derek says, not knowing what he’s agreeing to, too caught up in the soft skin and that wonderful scent. He’s hard in his shorts and he wants Stiles to know- to know what he does to him. He presses his hips forward as he licks and nips at Stiles’ neck.

Stiles makes a shocked noise, hands squeezing hard at Derek’s hips. Satisfaction rolls over Derek in deep full waves, knowing that Stiles is pleased, that he’s the one that makes Stiles pleased, makes him smell like home and happiness and love.

Love.

“You love me,” Derek whispers against his neck. That’s it, that’s the wonderful smell. It’s love.

“Ugh, Derek, don’t rub it in, I need-”

Derek kisses him. Stiles opens to him immediately, and the flavor- Derek wants to fall to his knees, he feels weak with how good the taste of reciprocation is, how full and new love tastes. He’s never had this before. He’s never had the thrill along with the certainty, the knowledge that Stiles wants this, wants him, wants them.

His hands are under Stiles’ shirt, pulling it up. He needs to see, he needs- he latches his mouth to Stiles’ nipple, sucking hard. Stiles shouts quick and sharp, body writhing between Derek and the tree behind him.

“No, Derek, ugh, come back-” Stiles complains, and tugs him by the hair up to his mouth again. Derek goes, feeling himself sink further. He wants to do anything Stiles wants him to. Stiles can have anything.

Derek pulls back. “What do you want?”

Stiles pants, sucks on his lower lip. His mouth is already so wet.

“I want… you?” He sounds dazed.

“Tell me,” Derek pleads.

It takes Stiles a moment more before he understands. “I want this, more of this.” Stiles pulls Derek’s hips against him in a slow grind.

“Yes,” Derek sighs, his spine relaxing as he frots against Stiles.

“Oh yeah,” Stiles groans, head thunking back against the tree. “Oh fuck.”

Derek can’t stop himself from tasting Stiles’ neck, laving with his tongue and biting with blunt teeth. Stiles grabs one of Derek’s hands and pushes it against his ass. Derek takes the hint, and immediately pushes inside down the back of Stiles’ shorts. Derek massages and squeezes one cheek, fingers dipping and teasing near his hole.

Stiles is whining on and off, small little choked sounds escaping him as he mouths at Derek’s ear.

“Please, Derek, I need just a little, please-”

At the first touch, Stiles’ legs go boneless. Derek rubs around his hole with one finger and Stiles pants silently, motionless everywhere but for his twitching fingers against Derek’s shoulder.

“Yes, Derek,” Stiles says, breathless.

Derek pulls away, and Stiles protests, making a shocked hurt noise, but quickly gets with the program when Derek pulls his shorts down and flips him against the tree.

“Oh yeah, god, Derek, please, just a little, please,” Stiles begs, sounding drunk.

Derek feels drunk. Or drugged. But he knows he’s not. He knows the difference, and this is so bright and real, and so much more, so much better.

He tugs his own shorts down and takes himself in hand, rubbing his cock between Stiles’ cheeks, up and down, smearing precome. He wraps one arm around Stiles’ middle, pulling him back against him hard. He takes Stiles’ cock in his other hand, just holding it for now, thumbing the head as he grinds against Stiles’ ass.

Stiles is mumbling curses, mixed with moans and Derek’s name, and it’s not until Stiles shouts that Derek realizes he’s been lost in his own pleasure, not really listening.

“Derek, come on! Just put it in, Jesus, Derek, I need you to-”

Derek is filled with overwhelming need- the need to take, to claim, to mark, to make his mate come. He tugs at Stiles’ cock. He mouths at Stiles’ nape and tries to find the right angle, the head of his cock catching at the rim. He presses harder, feeling Stiles give, and Stiles locks up, going rigid.

He thinks he hurt him- but then he smells it- Stiles’ come. He feels Stiles’ heart hammering, lungs heaving, muscles going limp and body pliant in his arms.

Deep relief and satisfaction fill him and he bites down hard on Stiles’ nape. Stiles makes a punched out sound, hand gripping Derek’s hair. Derek tugs on his cock fast, tip still pressed just inside Stiles and comes with a low growl. He licks over the spot on Stiles' neck, humming and rubbing Stiles' belly. Stiles relaxes against him, little huffs leaving his mouth that Derek wants to feel. As he comes down from his incredible high, he can’t help but touch and feel where he marked, fingers slipping around Stiles’ hole while Stiles complains.

“Derek… mmm, dude, please? Gross.”

Satisfied with his work, he pulls up their shorts and turns Stiles around to kiss him.

“Yeah, more of this,” Stiles says with hazy eyes, “but laying, please?”

Derek lies on the dried pine needles littering the forest floor, arranging Stiles on top of him. Stiles caresses his face as they kiss, fingers so soft and gentle. He feels as if he’s been wounded and Stiles is taking care of him. It soothes him, filling a weird empty space he didn't know he had.

When they’re just lying there, Stiles half on him, half off, Derek remembers something.

“Sorry it wasn't in a bed.”

Stiles snorts. “Nah, this is a better story.”

“Better story? For Scott?”

“Well, yeah, of course I’ll leave out the part where I run away from you and you find me like a scared little child…”

Derek smiles. “What will you say instead?”

“That I seduced you, duh.”

“Why can’t I be the one seducing you?”

“You’re already the predator- it’s not nearly as charming.”

“Charming? You think you’re charming?”

Stiles sits up and stares down at him. By the light of the moon, Derek can see his edges, all smug and challenging.

“Of course I’m charming. You think I’m _not_ charming?”

“I think you’re something.” Derek pulls him down, pressing their lips together in a slow slide. “A very annoying, beautiful, charming something.”

Stiles fights a smile and smacks Derek on the pec. “Fuck you,” he says, then brings his mouth to Derek’s ear. “You just want to get in my pants again, don’t you?”

Derek grabs Stiles’ ass and squeezes. “I really do, I really, really do.”

Stiles laughs. He smells like everything and more- he smells like them.

Derek rolls them over and licks Stiles’ bicep as he laughs and squirms, and thinks about how in the morning, he’ll smell like them too.


End file.
